Serendipity
by DeepCrimson91
Summary: Serendipity: some call it fate, others prefer coincidence. I was once inclined to agree with the latter. But as Bella sat beside me and her scent roused the monster within, I thought perhaps I could be converted. Because this moment was all too familiar.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own any Twilight characters that pop up in this story. I've just borrow them for the sake of not having to invent my own :P Although I have taken the time to come up with the original characters written._

_This is a new story and like my others it just popped into my head one night and kept me up for the rest of it. So you know the drill, give it a shot and let me know what you think, whether it's opinions on characterisations, questions on details, or basically just whatever pops into your head :) I find that usually works best._

EPOV

Serendipity. Those who are of a romantic mind may otherwise call it fate, destiny, divine providence. Others may say it is simply coincidence. I was once one of those who claimed coincidence was the reason for most fortunate turns in events. However as Isabella Swan sat beside me, her all too familiar scent surrounding me and that all too familiar monster clawing to escape its cage, I felt that maybe I could be converted. Because this all too familiar moment could surely only be the cause of fate. Destiny. Divine providence.

New POV

September 1931, Rochester.

"Annabelle, it's your turn," my mother prompted before she took a swift drag from her cigarette, releasing yet more acrid smoke into our living room.

I pulled myself up from my slump, unfolding my hand from under my chin, and picked up the two little dice.

"Best hope for two sixes, you could get Broadwalk," she smiled down at me and today I could see it was a true smile, the one that met her blue eyes and made them twinkle. True smiles were a rarity ever since this depression thing started. Not that we were much affected by it.

I shook the dice in my hand, giving them a blow for luck like mother always used to and cast them onto the monopoly board spread out before me.

"Oh hard luck, Darling, maybe next time." Mother patted my arm with one hand and stubbed out her cigarette with the other in one fine act of multitasking.

"C'est la vie, Mother. Whatever's meant to happen will happen." I sighed as I moved my little dog around the board.

"You're a funny little thing, Darling," Mother chuckled before taking the dice for her own go.

I was used to this, the board games, the quiet afternoons at home because the schools couldn't afford to be open all day. Our household may not have been hit like all the others by the depression but that didn't mean we couldn't feel it. It was as if a big ball of cotton wool had came and plonked itself right over America, muffling all the fun and making the streets seem less bright, less hustle and bustle.

We were lucky, being a Hartley came with money, a lot of it, but I knew it still bothered Mother that Father had lost his job. He wasn't the only one. That big Wall Street crash had caused an awful big mess.

"I was out at the store just yesterday and I bumped into Mrs Hale, you remember her, don't you, Annabelle. She has a daughter just a year older than you, Rosalie, said to be a lovely looking girl. Have you two ever met?"

How to answer Mother's question. No we had not met, not for lack of opportunity but merely because Rosalie Hale didn't come with a particularly high recommendation. From all who had ever mentioned her to me I gained the impression she was haughty beyond her stature. No, Mother would not be best pleased with that explanation. Best to keep it simple.

"No, I've never met her. Did Mrs Hale have anything to say?" _Other than promote her daughter..._

"Nothing in particular."

We lapsed into silence and like that we managed to pass another hour and going around and around on that little cardboard game.

"Oh good," Mother said as she glanced at the clock. "We're finished just in time." She stood briskly and smoothed out her wraparound dress, adjusting the pearls at her neck as she preened and tucked a strand of fiery red hair behind her ear.

"Are we expecting someone?" I asked as I looked down at my simple red dress. I'd worn it yesterday already, not that Mother knew. She'd just spend yet another half hour telling me about personal hygiene and how important appearance was to a young lady such as myself. Then again, at fourteen I wasn't looking to swipe a husband any time soon.

"Well, ever since that school started closing for half days I've been thinking about how best for you to spend your time. Anyway your Father suggested an instrument and we already have that baby grand piano in the lounge so we've hired you a piano instructor," Mother called over her shoulder as she walked across the hall towards said lounge. No doubt she would be fluffing up the pillows on the sofas in there, or checking the mantelpiece for dust. She was always so house-proud.

I walked over the parquet flooring of our grand hallway with weary feet while I approached the room.

"Must I learn piano? Could I not just spend the time reading?" I thought wistfully of the classics I had crowding my room upstairs. Father said it's as if I've tried to move the library up with me.

"Annabelle, to learn an instrument is a wonderful thing, it enriches your life."

"You don't know how to play an instrument."

"Yes, and I'm all the poorer for it."

I snorted, of all the things my Mother was poor was not one of them.

"Now just sit in here and be polite when he arrives. He sounded very proper on the phone so I can't imagine he'll be late." With that she bustled off again while I sat in the cream room, tapping my foot on the polished wooden floor and staring at the black piano not far from the pale gold sofa I sat on.

I didn't have anything against music and the instruments that played it. I couldn't even say the idea of learning piano bored me. I loved to listen to the Father's music after dinner, all the rousing crescendos and tranquil melodies. What I disliked was the attention that came with playing the piano. Once it gets out that you know what keys are which people start asking you to play at social events. They ask you for impromptu tunes while they stare down at your hands. I hated that idea and that was why I stuck to reading my books and indulging in my stories. No one could watch you do that and get any kind of pleasure from it.

I jumped a little when the doorbell rang out through the house. Mother's heels clicked loudly against the parquet flooring of the hallway as she went to answer the door, while I briefly ran my hands through my brown hair.

"Hello to you too, Mr Masen, it's a pleasure to meet you, Although I didn't expect you to be so...young." I felt a little in trepidation lift when the image of a doddering old man disappeared from my mind.

I heard a softly spoken reply before I heard the door close.

"Our piano is just through here, Mr Masen...oh oh I'm sorry I mean Edward." I heard my mother laugh, a light-hearted giggly laugh that she only ever used when Father gave her that smile and whispered something in her ear.

Footsteps sounded as they came towards me, my Mother's set heavier than the other's.

"Annabelle," I stood as Mother entered, smoothing my dress and crossing my hands behind my back. "This is Mr Edward Masen, your new piano instructor." As she stepped aside and he entered I felt my mouth go dry.

He was...indescribable. Terrifyingly so.

He stood there, rigid as a statue and as beautifully designed as well. Yet below the dreamy exterior, seen only in the shocking darkness of his eyes, seemed hatred surely no mere human could feel.

I felt my mouth pop open as he stood there, his fists clenched and his near ebony eyes glaring at me from across the room. Meanwhile my mother babbled, none of her words truly reaching my ears. All I could hear was my heartbeat, loud and clear as it pounded.

"Annabelle. Anna, sweetie," Mother urged and I swallowed heavily before clearing my throat.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr Masen," I whispered hoarsely through my dry throat.

"Oh, he says he prefers Edward," Mother added as she glanced at Edward, her eyes travelling over his statuesque frame.

Mr Masen didn't react. He just stayed in that tense position, his hands being the only thing that moved as they clenched and unclenched.

"Anyway, I'll leave you two. You'll need to get started since I'm sure Edward has other things he must be doing."

I watched as Mr Masen swallowed and closed his eyes, seeming to compose himself.

"Actually, Mrs Hartley, I came merely to meet Miss Hartley and acquaint myself. I must be going," he said quickly in tight words.

I saw my mother's affront at the coldness of his words but she recovered quickly to nod and show him to the door.

As soon as he left the room I sighed a breath of relief and slumped on the sofa, my heart still thumping heavily in my chest.

I couldn't describe why I felt this way, this strange mix of fear and thrill, or how Mr Masen had caused the reaction. It seemed ridiculous that one person could create such feelings within another without uttering a single word.

I heard the door close and no sooner had it's echo sounded than my mother was standing at the doorway of the lounge, her hand on her hip as she stared me with a bleak look on her face.

"What did you do, Annabelle?"

I gasped in shock, disbelief that she could find some way to blame me. "I didn't do anything. You know I didn't. I just sat here until you walked in and then all of a sudden he was just glaring at me."

"You must have done _something_, he was fine when I answered the door. Maybe something about you insulted him." My mother pondered as she looked me over.

I could feel my temper rising as she inspected me, as if I could invoke such a response from a stranger by simple insult. I couldn't even think what he could have found insulting. I'd just stood there.

"Did you brush your hair today?" Mother asked as her eyes narrowed. I bit my lip as I ran my hand over my hair, trying to tame it.

Mother gasped in horror at her realisation. "And I'm willing to bet you've worn those clothes before as well. What he must have thought with you stood there so unkempt."

I rolled my eyes at her over dramatisation. "Mother, I sincerely doubt my appearance caused his change in demeanour. Maybe he felt ill, or noticed something that unhinged him." Even as I gave her the possible explanations I discounted them in my mind. No illness could come that swiftly, and nothing in our home could stir much of a reaction in someone—let alone unhinge them.

"Perhaps." My mother chewed her nails, a nasty habit of hers that ensured she nearly always wore gloves when she went out.

"Oh well, now that is done I'm going to my room." I walked past Mother as she nodded and chewed and looked around the room in a way that seemed like she was just checking everything was as it should be.

I smiled as I took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. My room was my sanctuary up far away from the hustle and bustle of the lower two floors. It gave me a place to get away whenever Mother's lectures became too inane or Father's business drinks became too loud.

I especially liked the small Juliet balcony that I could access through the French windows. It gave me the pretty little view of the garden below and the other houses beyond. Whenever I've finished reading the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet, I go to my balcony and imagine what it must be like to stand and look down on your love, knowing you're meant for each other alone.

My father thinks my views on love and life are a little too fanciful for a girl of my age, but I can't help but think that these adolescent years are the perfect age for fanciful thoughts and quandaries. They are the brief years we have before the word fanciful must be swapped for responsible or realistic.

I flopped back on my spring bed, staring up at the cream ceiling as I tried to fathom out Mr Cullen's expression. There was something below the glare, something darker than mere disgust, like black fire.

I smirked to myself as I remembered how Bram Stoker had once used the term in his novel Dracula to describe the eyes of the Count himself. It had always stuck with me because I could see it so clearly—that a creature such as him could be capable of a hatred that strong because of the life he'd led. He'd been hunted, lived in war and blood, been shut out from the world.

Father had laughed when I talked about Dracula, he said I sympathised far too much with him, that I wasn't meant to try and understand him.

I wondered if he would think the same of Mr Masen. If he would say I wasn't supposed to justify his behaviour, or try to understand what it meant or why it happened. Maybe Father would just tell me to forget about him, that if he acted so rudely he's not worth my thoughts.

That was usually Father's response to any mention I make of a person's ill behaviour towards me. I believe his bias opinion of me stems from the fact I'm an only child, his little girl. He never tolerates anything or anyone who may hurt me.

As my mind sways towards danger I think of Mr Masen again, his hard chiselled face clouding my mind. Pure alabaster skin, obsidian eyes, and lustrous bronze hair, all so enthralling yet so frightening at the same time.

And all the while, as I remember those dark dark eyes I can only think of Dracula and those two words: black fire.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own any Twilight characters that pop up in this story. I've just borrow them for the sake of not having to invent my own :P Although I have taken the time to come up with the original characters written._

Knives and forks moved against good china, piercing the silence like a needles searing through flesh. I couldn't decide which was more painful that sharp sound or the silence it invaded. Both were uncomfortable. Then again many silences had been this way since Father lost his job and Mother had to face his mistake every time she looked at him. I'd tried telling her it wasn't his fault, after all many of the high flying stock brokers had lost their livelihoods when the Big Wall Street Crash came along. Then again I'm only a girl, what do I know about these things. Or at least that's what she comforts herself with so she doesn't have to admit that her stupid humiliation is childish. Just because Father didn't have a job right now didn't mean she was a public embarrassment. Just like everyone else. Of course I'd soon learnt that being a Hartley and being considered 'just like everyone else' was the sole reason for this silence and my mother's pouting. Hartley's were social aristocracy, not unemployed common folk.

"Annabelle scared off her piano tutor today," Mother said in her off hand tone before taking a sip of her wine.

My father's mouth smirked below his groomed moustache while he cut into his pork chop. "Is this true, Anna? Did you become all fangs and claws and scare away the poor man?" I giggled before my mother's icy blue stare hit me.

"There were no fangs and claws but I was wearing a truly terrifying red dress." We snickered, my father's brown eyes gleaming at me while my mother elegantly tucked the stray wisp of red hair back into place.

"Arthur, I spent a great deal of time finding that tutor so that our daughter may become a better allrounded young lady and no sooner had he arrived than he left again. I would appreciate that you would take a more serious tone with your daughter for causing me to waste my time." Her voice had that air of threat that I knew could bend Father faster than lightning could flash, so I sat silently with a vague solemn expression on my face and waited for Father to turn to me with his own serious expression.

"Anna, your mother is right and I hope you are appropriately regretful." He winked at the end, not that mother could see.

"Of course. I'm sorry for scaring off the piano tutor. Perhaps I could ring to apologise to him for my behaviour." I added with hope. Edward Masen had been frustrating me all day and I wanted nothing more than to hunt out why.

"I think that is a wonderful idea, Annabelle. Very mature of you." Mother smiled although it didn't reach her eyes. I could only guess father had returned from the job shop unsuccessful.

"Perfect. I'll call him tomorrow, it's a Saturday after all." With that dinner continue to a close, all the while my father and me exchanging covert glances and furtive smirks. I loved my mother, but my father was the one I would choose to take to a desert island if I had to. Even if his general lack of skill would surely render us both dead.

When dinner had ended and I sat at the kitchen table watching as Mrs. Potts completed her duties. I sat on the simple wooden chair by the large oak table. The top was marked and chipped with the daily use, but that was what made its character. The irreparable flaws that showed it had been worth its weight and served its purpose.

"Thank you for the dinner, Mrs. Potts, it was delicious as always," I said politely as she smiled at me from the kitchen sink, her hands submerged in soapy water.

"How many times do I have to tell you, you don't have to thank me. Your mother's done a fine thing for me hiring me an all." Under the happy glow on Mrs. Potts' rosy cheeks I saw the worried flatness of her grey eyes. I knew enough of Mrs. Potts' life to know that times had been hard for her and her family of five. Ever since the Depression Mr. Potts had struggled to find any joinery work. It seemed people didn't have the money to spend on new kitchen cabinets or dining sets.

I listened quietly to the voices of my parents coming from the best lounge and waved a small goodbye to Mrs. Potts as I followed the sound of the conversation. It was only through eavesdropping that I ever learnt anything about the state of our lives. If I hadn't been conveniently situated in the library all those months ago I'm sure I would never have even realised Father had lost his job.

"Arthur, it's been five months and you still don't have a job. I can't help but wonder why you still visit that job shop when there is so little success to be had," My mother murmured, so I leaned a little closer to the door. I could see a slit of the room they sat in but not the people themselves.

"Our situation is no different to anyone else's, Eleanor. I'm trying my best but the economy is in such a mess that there seems to be hardly any need for bankers and brokers." My father's tired, gruff voice grumbled over the sound of the crackling fire.

There was a rustle as a newspaper page was turned, and a clink as a glass was placed on a wooden surface.

"Mr. Hale seems to have found a crack to wedge himself into. Cecelia was just telling me that he's found a post at the bank." Mother mused.

"Of course Hale would find a way to worm his way in. That family is known for their ambitions. That irritating climber even asked Mark Hodge over for drinks."

"Did he really? Mark Hodge? What on earth would make Victor Hale believe Mark Hodge would visit for drinks? A local banker entertaining an English Baron..." My mother's shock was almost comical. I'd never understand the ins and outs of social status. To me a name was just a name and a job just a job. Why did either of those define you, or indicate who you can and cannot socialise with?

"Next thing you know they'll have that daughter of theirs married off to a King." Father chuckled and it was as warm as the fire that heated the room. I heard another rustle along with the movement of fabric.

"Much rather their daughter than ours. There's something about those boys that unnerves me." Mother asked from further away in the room. I could see a slither of her figure through the slit in the door as she stood beside the fireplace.

"Our daughter is never growing up or marrying off. I won't allow it." Father joked although I could hear the concern in his voice.

"I worry about her sometimes. She doesn't fit in all that well with the other children her age, and she seems far more interested in those books of hers than the teas and gatherings being held." I watched as Mother looked toward where I assumed Father sat. Her eyes seemed so sad and uncertain that it made my heart clench. I had no regrets over my interests or slightly smaller than average friendship group. Most of the girls that approached me to talk were only told to do so by their mother's. A Hartley was a Hartley, and to be friends with one was surely a step on the social ladder. I didn't want to play any part in it.

Father's heavy footfalls sounded across the room and I watched as he stood in front of his wife, taking her hand in his.

"We raised her well, Eleanor. She's a wonderful little girl and you should be proud of her. She's got a good head on her shoulders and a strong moral compass in her heart. Just like her mother." He touched her chin to get her eyes to look at him and I saw a brief smile flit on her face.

"I hope so," she answered before looking towards the flames. Her face lit with flicking light and shadow, the soft glow turning back the years on her aged face. "Everything will be alright, won't it, Arthur," she pondered.

Father sighed as he brushed the hair back from her face, and held it gently in his palms.

"Eleanor, my love, we are Hartleys. A job will come along soon and everything will be as it was before. I promise," he said before placing a kiss on her forehead and leaving to sit back down to his paper.

"I love you Arthur Hartley," Mother said as she returned to her previous place. There was the faint sound of a sip and a soft 'I love you too' coming from my father.

With the conversation at a close I made my way up to my bedroom, all the while my mind churned over the thoughts that perhaps this depression could cause more damage to our family than I'd originally thought


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I do not own any Twilight characters that pop up in this story. I've just borrow them for the sake of not having to invent my own :P Although I have taken the time to come up with the original characters written._

_The reviews have been wonderful, thank you very much. I want to apologise in advance for any delays between updates. I am just starting a really stressful exam period and there's a lot going on so unfortunately writing has to take a back seat. Hope you can forgive me :)_

I thumbed the piece of paper that my mother had given me when she prompted me to call Mr. Cullen. Apparently they were the only family in the area that weren't listed in the phonebook, which made me wonder just how much effort Mother had put in to contact Mr Masen in the first place.

I'd been looking at the crisply written number for the past fifteen minutes and yet my fingers had not gotten any closer to the dial ring. I was never usually of a nervous disposition yet every time my fingers rested on the first digit I couldn't help but imagine the expression on Mr. Masen's face.

That expression was a strange juxtaposition of causing intrigue and fear. My fingers itched to dial, to hear his voice and see if it was as cool as his glare. On the other hand my mind reminded me of the chill I felt running down my spine when he'd glared at me and that was the reason for the pause, and the fifteen minutes of mental battles.

_For the love of God, just dial the number._ I huffed and started to dial.

The dial tone played once and once only.

"Hello, the Cullen residence." A sweet womanly voice answered and instantly my foot stopped tapping wildly.

"Hello, could I please talk with Mr Edward Masen?"

"I'm terribly sorry, but he's left to visit friends for a few days. Can I take a message?"

"Oh, sure. Could you tell him that Annabelle Hartley called."

"Annabelle Hartley. Of course, Edward mentioned that he planned to tutor you."

"I think my mother hopes he still will. Apparently I am the last hope for our piano to ever be played." A tinkling bell like laugh sounded down the phone and I smiled into the receiver.

"Well, we can't have that piano wasted. I shall tell Edward you called as soon as he gets back."

"That would be just great. Do you know how long he'll be gone?" I asked as I glanced to see my mother light up her second cigarette in the past half hour.

"Unfortunately, I'm not sure how long he'll be away, but I hope it won't be too long." I heard the faint longing in the soothing voice. Whoever was on the other end of the phone must have had a deep fondness for that certain Mr. Edward Masen.

I didn't receive a phone call from Edward Masen, not the next day or any other day throughout that week. As each day past my indifference churned into anger. I had done nothing to insult him and yet it was I who was being barraged by my mother's constant questions and accusations. She never once stopped to blame him, or question why _he _had behaved so oddly. Instead it was set in her mind that it was my fault, that my 'oddness' had clearly discouraged the mysterious piano teacher. Like a good daughter I took my mother's comments with a pinch of salt and a spoonful of sugar. I knew she was merely focussing her sights on me because if she looked anywhere else she would find herself sitting in silence, smoking a cigarette in the dim second lounge light. I was the one thing she could change, control, and because it gave her peace of mind I let her.

"Annabelle, could you please go change into your royal blue dress. We're expected at the Kings' in half an hour and that green dress has seen better days." I acquiesced to her request and trudged back up the stairs to go change. Even though the green dress I wore had only been bought a couple of months ago.

As I pulled the blue dress up over my legs and started to do the gold buttons up, I thought of what the afternoon had in store. The Kings were a very influential family in Rochester, in the same social league as us although liked to think themselves above. However with all their riches and social standing the Kings lacked humanity, or at least Mr King did. I knew Mother was hesitant of visiting them, and I knew that hesitance was largely due to Mr King and the way he treated his wife. It was supposed to be a secret, but even as a child I knew that Mrs King didn't receive her shining bruises from walking into cupboard doors or tripping down the stairs. For starters I doubted she ever went near cupboard doors, they had servants that handled most of their chores. Mr King wasn't the only reason why I disliked our visits to the Kings. There were also his three sons: George, Royce, and Theodore.

George was the eldest and with his age came a sense of superiority that seemed to make even his mother shrink in his presence. He was a large boy, in size and character, with cool blond hair and shrewd blue eyes. I was glad he had recently seen himself above spending time with me and his brothers. Apparently, now that he had reached sixteen, we were too young to bother with. I certainly didn't miss him constantly enforcing his views and opinions.

Then there was Theodore, the youngest. You would think he preferred to be called Teddy but he didn't. He was very firm with that point. I believe it stemmed for the idea that he didn't want to appear weak in front of his brothers. I also believed it was for that reason that he took to bullying other children for their pocket money. It wasn't like he needed it. He didn't want for anything. That was another thing about Teddy. He was spoilt, to the point that he resembled more of a balloon than a boy. He'd been fed so much candy that his ten-year-old self was now a gargantuan build of fists and fat face.

_At least the chubby cheeks balance out that bulbous nose, _I thought with a smirk as I smoothed the white collar on my dress and passed my hands down to pull my white socks up to my knees.

Finally there was Royce. I shivered as I thought of him. He was the golden child, that much was clear. It was also clear that he knew it and his brothers did too. He may have been unfortunate enough to have been born as the middle child but that was the only place he was at a disadvantage—if you could call it that. He had inherited his father's strong jaw line and his mothers almond shaped eyes lined with lashes a girl could be envious of. In truth he was a pretty boy, on the surface. Underneath the sandy, waved hair and slate blue eyes lay a boy who lived life like a game of chess. He was manipulative, clever, sly, and it was clear in the depths of his eyes that his goal in life was to own, conquer, and overrule. If life truly were a game of chess his one ambition would be to take the queen. Take her against her will and relish in the idea that she was his property—his to do with what he pleased. It was for that reason I never allowed myself to be alone with him. We may only be children –he fifteen and I fourteen—but he was sharp developing a man's mind, a forceful mindset like his father, and I had no interest in being his queen.

I fiddled a little with the pearl slides on either side of my head before sighing and heading back down to Mother.

This afternoon would be a very long afternoon, but at least it would take my mind off Edward Masen and the irritation he created within me.

Our car ride didn't take very long and throughout it Mother and I talked and observed the world around us, she was always happier out in the world rather than cooped up in the house. However as we drew up to the grand town house I noticed the way she fell silent and her eyes grew withdrawn. For a moment I wondered whether it was only Mr King and his treatment of Mrs King that caused her quietness, or whether there was something else, but not sooner had I thought it than her smile turned to me—even if it didn't touch her eyes.

"Come on, they'll be waiting for us," she said as the driver opened the car door and we stepped out onto the pavement.

"Why do they never come to us?" I asked and Mother's smile faltered.

"It's just easier this way. We don't want those boisterous boys in our house, can you imagine them tearing around." Mother joked, but I knew that wasn't the real reason. Just as when I asked her why Caroline King never joined us on our trips into town she said Caroline was of a very sensitive disposition. However, she was never too sensitive to join her husband for dinners, dances, and other social occasions where their united front was required.

The interchangeable maid answered the door with a bow and murmured "Mrs King is in her day lounge, Mrs Hartley." My mother nodded grimly and touched my shoulder as she left up the stairs.

It was her day lounge today instead of the informal lounge. That meant only one thing, and that was that she had a need to encompass herself in her own private quarters, away from the boys and her husband. Away from prying eyes that could notice her new infliction.

"Master Royce and Master Theodore are in the Billiard room, Miss Hartley. Do you wish me to announce you?" the maid asked and I screwed my mouth up as I thought about what to do. Mother would be with Caroline for at least an hour, and I wasn't sure if I could stand Royce and Teddy for that long.

"What were you doing before you answered the door?" I asked and watched as she looked at me in curiosity.

"I was making the Thermidore sauce for this evening's dinner, Miss," she answered obediently.

"Great, can I come help?" I pushed enthusiastically. The maid stuttered momentarily as she looked at me and then up at the stairs where my mother had disappeared.

"Please." I pressed.

"If you wish," she replied unsurely and led the way to the back of the house where the kitchen sat. It wasn't the norm anymore for there to be servants and servant quarters but that was only for the middle classes. The Kings weren't middle class, far from it.

The maid checked her sauce before opening up cupboards, searching for some mystery object. I wandered over to where the sauce was bubbling away, producing a scrumptious scent of cream, white wine, and subtle herbs.

I picked up the spoon and stirred a few times as I drew the smell deep into my lungs.

"Are you sure you prefer to be here rather than with the Masters in the Billiard room?" the maid asked as she returned with a small bottle of lemon juice.

"Well here I get to smell good food and enjoy pleasant company. Up in the Billiards room I'd have to endure the smell of Teddy and deal with Royce's company."

The maid stifled a laugh.

"Of course don't tell anyone I said that, and it'll probably be a good thing if you deposit me with them for a few minutes so I can at least pretend without telling a complete lie." I sighed as I handed the spoon over to the maid and watched as she added a few dashes of lemon juice.

"Your secret's safe with me, Miss Hartley."

"Please, call me Anna." I smiled at her and she nodded before she timidly replied, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Anna. I'm Melody."

"Wonderful," I said brightly, although I knew for a fact that Melody wouldn't be here the next time I would be made to visit. Just as Rachel, Lisa, Sylvie, Megan, Harriet, and all the others had been banished after a mere month or two, she too would be let go. Or perhaps even worse, she'd be one of the few that fled on their own accord, for that same mysterious reason.

Melody and I talked genially as she continued to patter around the kitchen, her slim frame was remarkably strong for its size so she didn't struggle with lugging around the large bags of potatoes.

As decided, Melody deposited me in the Billiard room when she took Caroline and my mother their second cup of tea. The second cup always signalled that there was around fifteen minutes left. I knew the routine well.

Melody announced me as was her duty and I rolled my eyes as Royce stood and bowed his head regally in welcome as he chalked his snooker cue.

"Oh good Smellabelle is here." Teddy drawled as he stuffed another scone into his mouth.

"I missed you too, Teddy Bear." I pouted sarcastically earning me a scowl from his piggy eyes.

"Theodore, where are your manners? You have yet to offer Annabelle something to eat," Royce said as he swept from the snooker table towards me. I made sure to shrink away when he attempted to put his arm around me as he guided me to one of the cherry red armchairs.

I looked at the scones Teddy was eating and crinkled my nose in disgust when he thumbed over each one with his spit covered fingers.

"I'm fine, thank you." I returned before clearing my throat as Royce's hand passed down my neck and along my arm.

"Are you sure?" he asked as he looked down at me with those same leering eyes.

"Yes, Royce. If I wasn't sure I wouldn't have said it."

He chuckled as he walked back to his game. "I do love that little mouth of yours, Annabelle." He blew the excess chalk off his cue as he looked over me. I controlled my urge to gag. I should be used to this by now.

Teddy placed the now empty plate on the table in front of him with a clatter before sucking the crumbs off each his fingers and then searching for more on his top. In the end he gave up and rose from the large seat next to me. "I want more scones." He grumbled and Royce sighed.

"If you are sure you truly want more scones then you'll have to go ask Maid to make them."

"If I wasn't sure I wouldn't have said it." Teddy sneered, repeating my words with an added whine attached. With that said he trundled out of the room and I felt an uneasy air descend.

I got up from the chair and went over to the cherry wood bookshelf in the corner of the room. Reading was my only option now to avoid conversation with Royce.

I thumbed over the beautiful volumes, each one bound in thick leather and smelling of the tales they told. I doubted any of the boys had bothered to even lift them from the shelves.

As I ran my finger down the spine of a book of Shakespearian sonnets I felt a presence at my shoulder.

"Shall I compare thee to a summers day, thou art more lovely and more temperate," Royce murmured in my ear and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. "That Shakespeare fellow had a queer look on life." He finished as I started to turn but found myself trapped by Royce and his cue forming a barrier.

"I rather like him, so if you could move, please," I said sweetly although my eyes stared with no such feeling.

"I think I quite like our positions just as they are, Annabelle."

"You'll like them less if you don't move," I said through a calm voice even though his proximity was definitely a concern.

He stood for a moment, leaning forward until I could almost feel his breath on my face. My gaze flickered between his as he watched my lips. "Yes, I really do love your little mouth."

He smirked as he stepped back, looking over his shoulder as he returned to his game.

I held the book to my chest, almost a shield between the two of us until I lowered myself into the same armchair I'd been sitting in and tried to focus on the words before me.

It was in this way that I passed the following twenty minutes until my mother came and collected me at the door, Caroline standing behind her with a timid smile on her face and yet another long sleeved dress covering her slender frame.

My mother sighed deeply when the driver started the car. She didn't say a word the whole ride back, not until we stepped through our front door and she seemed to exhale in relief.

Mrs Potts came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and smiling. "Lovely to see you back, Eleanor. Is Caroline in the right sorts?" Mrs Potts asked, able to use first names due to her closeness with both parties.

"She's as she always is," Mother replied and I saw Mrs Potts' face nodded with a faint trace of pity.

"Could you tell me when dinner will be ready, Mary?" Mother asked wearily, already looking towards the study where my father's faint orchestral music was playing.

"I'll be serving the lamb pot at seven, Eleanor." Mrs Potts replied, her smile back before remembrance sprang into its place. "Before I forget there was a phone call for Annabelle, a Mr Edward Masen. He asked for you to call him. He sounded a lovely man, very polite."

My mother dipped to place a kiss on my forehead, her perfume reaching my nostrils and her red hair tickling my face. "Isn't that wonderful, Darling," she said and I nodded as I pressed my lips together. Of course it was great that he'd finally returned my call, but now I had to interact with him again and that part made me uneasy.

I watched as Mrs Potts left back to the kitchen and my mother went to my father's study, shutting the door behind her. I was left standing in the middle of the hallway and in that moment of near silence I huffed a heavy breath of boredom. Because really, what else was there to do.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I do not own any Twilight characters that pop up in this story. I've just borrow them for the sake of not having to invent my own :P Although I have taken the time to come up with the original characters written._

_Thank you to those who have not given up on this story (or any of my others). The exams are over but there's is now a new little puppy to contend with and she demands a lot of attention which means writing has been forced to take a back seat. So, sorry for the wait!_

I rang Edward Masen the following day. I couldn't delay it anymore since my mother cast a reproachful glance every hour that passed.

It was like any other phone call. That is any other phone call that occurred two very awkward people. His voice had been just as tight as it had been when I last saw him, and my fists had been clenched the whole time. I didn't understand why he had this effect on me, even without him being in the room, but there was something in the lilt of his voice that made it seem like it almost tickled the raised hairs on the back of my neck. He made me anxious, on edge, as if I were out of my depth.

We had concluded the conversation with his invitation for me to visit his home for my next piano lesson—a fact my mother was shocked to hear. It wasn't unheard of girls going to visit a man's house. However the main reason it wasn't unheard of was because once it had happened it was all the gossips had to talk about. Then again, Mother seemed very set upon me going, even if she had to come with me herself.

It was for that reason I was standing on the doorstep of a very fancy looking townhouse while my mother preened her hair and tapped on the large black door with the gold knocker. It was a lion's head with a fixed majestic stare. It racked my already tense nerves to a new level.

"It's an awfully grand house for a piano teacher," Mother murmured as she smoothed her red polka dot dress.

The door swung open, and before us stood a woman who seemed to have stepped out of a fairytale. She was a vision of full skirts, perfectly rolled hair, and dainty doe eyed features. A living replica of Snow White, if not for the caramel hair and curious golden eyes.

"Hello, you must be Eleanor and Annabelle Hartley. I'm Esme Cullen. It's lovely to meet you." She smiled warmly and she swung the door wide and beckoned us forward. Mother entered with a bright smile. I moved with a little less certainty.

The house was beautiful, designed just as ours was. It had polished wooden floors, fresh cream walls and four doors that sat in pairs on either side of the staircase leading upstairs. But for all the beauty it lacked something our home didn't. As my mother and Esme talked and walked, I followed behind with my eyes to the floor. There was not a single pitfall or scrape. No place where the polish was a little less shiny. The coving didn't have a speck of dust, and the house itself didn't smell of cooking and cigars, instead it was fresh, sweet, and completely without any scent of home.

For all the loveliness, there was something off. Not bad or unpleasant, just unusual.

"How long have you and your brother lived here?" I heard my mother ask as I zoned back into the conversation. From the smiles on both their faces they had already exchanged compliments, and pleasantries.

"We'll have been here two and a half years come January. We moved when I married Mr Cullen." As if on cue a man entered the lounge we were now situated in.

I felt my jaw drop and heard mother's gasp. He was unlike any adult man I had ever seen, and from mother's reaction she was thinking the same. His blonde hair shone but not from slicking oil such was the case with most men around here.

"This is my husband, Carlisle Cullen," Esme said proudly and I felt my mother's hand tap me on my arm, an order for me to close my mouth. She, herself, cleared her throat.

"Aren't you the doctor down on Kingsley?"

"Yes, I started when we moved. It's very fulfilling work."

"And you do it very well from what I hear. Martha Stanley said you have done wonders for her Asthma." I watched as my mother talked with her eyes fixed solely on the handsome doctor. I was finding it hard to pull my gaze away but at least I wasn't married. I was allowed to look, she had Father.

"Should I start my lesson? We don't want to take up all your time." I cut in, receiving a stern look from Mother, but a glance of entertainment from the doctor and his wife.

"Of course. I, myself, have work waiting for me in the office," Carlisle explained as he dipped his head. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs Hartley." He looked decidedly at my mother before turning to me and fixing his unusual gold eyes on mine. "Miss Hartley."

With that he was gone, as if gliding from the room with a grace and swiftness I had never seen a man possess.

"I'll show you to the piano room. I believe my brother is there waiting for you," Esme said as she led us across the hall way to the only room with the door shut.

She knocked once before entering and, as I had at the front door, I stalled. It was only because Mother was behind me that I was forced to enter.

I hated that Edward Masen had such a strange effect on me, but it was only heightened when I saw him get up from the piano and stand rigidly beside it.

I was going to have to sit there, with him looking over my shoulder, watching me, in a room with just us in it. The very thought made my heart fly and my nails bite into my skin.

"Miss Annabelle Hartley, Edward," Esme said in what seemed to almost be a caution.

My mother nudged me forward until I was halfway between the door and the piano or—as my mind was screaming it—the door and Edward's penetrative stare.

"How about we retire to the lounge, Eleanor, while Annabelle has her lesson. I'd love to hear more about your work with the children's nursery."

I turned with a slight look of panic in my eyes but it was met with Mother's frown before she smiled with Esme and they left the room.

Esme shut the door behind us.

I stared at the thick oak door while I felt the tension wash over me.

"Miss Hartley," Edward said, and I jumped as I turned to see him a mere metre away from me rather than the three he had been before. I hadn't even heard him move.

"If you would like to take a seat at the piano," he ordered in a clipped voice. He was not going to be one of those softly-softly tutors. Instead it seemed he would eat me alive.

I made my way slowly to the piano, hating the way my feet made an echo with every footstep. The near pressure-like hush of the room amplified my heartbeat until I was sure everyone in the house could hear it

I sat with a slight creak from the chair and shuffled forward with an awkward scrape on the perfectly polished floor.

"Have you ever played piano before, Miss Hartley?" Edward asked from the same place he had been standing. He hadn't taken a single step towards me and I wondered how he was going to teach me piano without being close enough to see the keys. Still, I certainly wasn't asking to have him any closer.

"I know the C scale, and the G chord but that's it. Sorry." For some reason I felt ashamed to admit my inadequacies to him. Perhaps it had something to do with the way he came across so flawless, except for his severe manner.

"Follow the keys from middle C to high C and name each note," he ordered brusquely. I huffed as I hit the first note. This was going to be a very long and boring hour I could just feel it.

I repeated Edward's exercise three times before he said a word. I wasn't sure why he didn't speak, but whatever it was made each repetition become filled with more tension than the last.

Eventually I glanced at him expectantly.

"Good. Now chords." We worked painstakingly through the first four chords I was required to learn. He kept his distance, and I tried to follow his orders even though I could sense he was becoming more and more frustrated.

Eventually the time came when my frustration overtook my nerves.

"Arg!" I growled as my fingers slammed down on the keys. "Instead of _telling_ me what notes I'm supposed to be using. Why can't you come over here and show me," I protested as I turned to glare at Edward.

His own expression showed he wasn't pleased, but nonetheless he came with quickness that made my heart race, and he placed his long nimble fingers on the keys pressing once before stepping back.

I looked up from the piano with a tight smile. "Thank you," I said through my teeth as we stared at each other.

It was then I noticed something. His eyes, which had been a riveting black the last time we met were now the colour of toffee. I felt my jaw slacken as I stared, trying to decipher how such a thing could have occurred.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Miss Hartley?" he asked as his head tilted ever-so-slightly.

I cleared my throat and turned back to the piano immediately. "No. No, thank you. Is this right?" I gently played the chord.

I heard him breathe in deeply before sighing and releasing an almost wistful "perfect."


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I do not own any Twilight characters that pop up in this story. I've just borrow them for the sake of not having to invent my own :P Although I have taken the time to come up with the original characters written._

After our first piano lesson I visited the Cullen household every week, sometimes twice if Mother hadn't already invited Esme over. It had only been two months and already Carlisle and Esme had become my parent's favourite people to socialise with. It was a bond which was made all the closer when Carlisle recommended my father as treasurer of the hospital. It was the boost that both my parent's needed, even if our bank balance was more than healthy without it.

Although my parents and Dr and Mrs Cullen were enjoying a comfortable, friendly relationship, the same could not be said for Edward and I. We rarely spoke regarding anything other than piano, and even then he was frugal with his words.

However all the silence gave me time to think, listen, and observe. Through this I had learnt a lot. I knew his eyes were never the same shade, ranging from startling gold to a shade closer to obsidian. Carlisle would often enter the room seemingly for a reason and then leave within moments on the days when Edward's eyes were at their darkest. There was also the way Edward never came too close and yet always heard my mutterings, and always saw when my positioning were incorrect, even though the sound was the same. He was a perfectionist when it came to the piano and yet his hair was always tossed this way and that. He never helped himself to the muffins Esme brought through, even though they were the taste of heaven. All in all he was an odd boy, but nonetheless he was a boy who kept me sitting at the edge of my seat every moment—and not just because it was easier to reach the pedals from there.

I flipped myself over as I lay on my bed reading Shakespeare's _Tempest._ We had been told to study it for English class. Finally it was a homework I was more than happy to do, much better than all the old war stories. I was supposed to be practising my piano assignment, but my fingers had ran over the keys too many times for me to have any incentive to continue. If Mother was in the room watching me and urging me to continue then I had little motivation to learn. It just seemed that any enjoyment from the music was a long way off. I was still only learning the basics, silly little tunes that tested my beginner's skill. I had no thirst to learn because those intricate melodies and symphonies Father played in his office while he worked seemed so far in the distance. I doubted I would ever be good enough to play Mozart or Tchaikovsky. I was still struggling along with the Alouette.

"Anna, sweetie, it's time to go," Mother called up the stairs, and I imagined she would be slipping on her new favourite coat. It was a crisp white cape coat with large shiny black buttons. Father had bought it for her on his way back from his first day at work. She was Eleanor Hartley again, wealthy wife of Arthur Hartley VI.

I placed my bookmark in and shut the book with a pout. Edward was not going to be happy this week, I just knew it. Partly because I hadn't practised as much as I perhaps should have and also because today would be a dark day.

Over the two months we had been visiting the Cullens I had noticed how Edward's eyes seemed to follow a pattern. Every other session his eyes would be a bright dazzling gold, and then on the session when they weren't they would be the colour of treacle toffee. Dark and with a hint of danger. I hated those days. He was never as patient or willing to come to the piano and help. On Monday's session his eyes were that lovely golden shade, which meant for certain than now it was Thursday his eyes would be a mildly terrifying treacle hue.

It wasn't just Edward who's eyes seemed to change. Esme and Carlisle exhibited the same routine, although not quite as regularly. I hadn't mentioned such things to Mother, nor Father, but they were there in the back of my mind along with all the other little things that seemed to be ignored by my parents. I wasn't sure why I thought it was important to keep note of these things such as the grace, speed, silence, eyes, or lack of appetite. However there was part of me that felt such things _should_ be noted. For whatever reason.

"Annabelle." Mother's warning travelled up the stairs once again, so I hastily pulled on my navy coat, pulling my mahogany hair out from under it. Whatever mood Edward would be in, it was always better to keep Mother happy first.

As usual, once we arrived, I went straight to the piano room and knocked once on the door. It seemed it was always best to do this. Especially on dark days.

I didn't wait for a reply, as usual, instead I walked straight in past Edward and sat at the piano, poised and ready.

"Good afternoon, Miss Hartley." I rolled my eyes at his formal tongue. Two months had gone by and he still refused to call me Annabelle. I'd dropped Mr Masen a long time ago. Roughly around the time I stomped my hands down on the keys and practically ordered him to show me how to play the D minor chord.

"Good afternoon to you too, at least I assume it's a good afternoon." I glanced out the corner of my eye and saw him standing in his usual place with the same impassive mask on his face. "It's not like you ever show it," I muttered.

"Is there something else you wish to say, Miss Hartley?" he drawled.

"Oh no, no I just had a tickle in my throat," I said sweetly. "Would you like me to play the Alouette?" I held my fingers above the keys ready and waiting.

"Do you wish to learn the piano, Miss Hartley?"

I froze at the question. Edward never asked me questions, instead he seemed to prefer statements and orders. I hesitated before answering with a wavering yes.

"What is the reason for you choosing to learn the piano, Miss Hartley, and this time I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to lie." He seemed amused which was very different to his usual soft, placid tone of voice.

My shoulders slumped as I spun on the seat to face him. He was closer than I had expected.

"To tell you the truth, Edward, I'd much rather be at home reading the _Tempest_ which I'm supposed to be studying for English." He didn't seem very happy about this so I quickly continued. "It's not that I don't enjoy listening to piano, or that I don't appreciate music, or even that I don't wish to learn. I just can't imagine that I will ever be good enough to create anything pleasant from these keys."

His mouth twitched with what could have been a smile. Unusual to say the least, but utterly surprising given it was a dark day. Then again it could have been a smirk at my lack of talent.

"Which do you think the great pianists of the world play with, their head or their heart?" he asked quietly.

"Well, if I'm honest I would have thought their fingers...but I presume since that isn't an option I would have to say their heart."

He nodded tightly. "Exactly, Miss Hartley. To be skilled at the piano is not solely to be able to recall the correct notes and finger positioning. It is to be able to create a feeling for the listener. An impression."

I glanced at the keys with uncertainty. How could such a thing be made from pressing a few ivory pieces?

"I'm not sure I follow."

He seemed to stiffen ever so slightly before coming to stand beside the piano. With a clear of his throat I moved from the piano bench and he sat swiftly. His body seemed to settle on the bench like it was returning to where it belonged, a comfort zone.

"A child may be represented with a tune that seems to skip." He played such a tune and sure enough my mind thought up the little rosy children that played hop scotch or traded marbles.

"The emotion of sadness can be created through the minor keys, or with a slight change it could transform into something sinister." He continued as his fingers moved effortlessly, jumping around the black and white.

"Young love could sound like this." Before I could recover from my surprise at his choice of emotion he was playing a tune that was full of loveliness with a jump in the notes that seemed almost a little cheeky.

"Then a story could be created as it grows deeper, more lasting." The melody changed at an almost dreamy pace, like molten candle wax dripping down the stick.

He stopped playing and I stared at his profile with confusion and a sneaking sense of curiosity. He seemed to sense my stare because he looked up and for the moment our eyes met I decided then and there that perhaps I had misread Mr Edward Masen. He had seemed so bland, impassive, almost as if he lived life without any commitment to expressing how he felt about it. However, here, sitting on the piano bench was a man who clearly felt a lot more than he ever showed.

I went to speak, to question him about the reason he had chosen such an emotion, what the flow and tenor of the tune meant, how he seemed to portray the emotion so well. I meant to ask all those things but instead I chose not to. "What would a pompous politician sound like?"

I giggled at his attempt, it fit quite well.

Once he had played my request he stood just as quickly as he had sat down. "Do you understand now, Miss Hartley?"

He was back to his prim and proper way but now I knew, deep below, there was something more.

"Yes I think I understand perfectly." He watched me with a slight tilt of his head and a searching look in his treacle coloured eyes.

I smiled and went to turn on the bench to face the piano again. "By the way, I'd prefer it if you called me Annabelle, or Anna. If that's alright with you."

I looked down at the keys, the tune he'd played about me flitting in my head, as he answered.

"It would be my pleasure, Annabelle."

With that simple sentence I felt like maybe our relationship had shifted. Once student and teacher, but now a chance of friends.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of its characters.**

Rochester, 1933.

I often look back at that day, two years ago, as a turning point in the relationship Edward and I shared. I wouldn't go as far as to say we turned about completely but instead of continuing down that rough road we took a detour which took us on a much more pleasant route. However that was not to say that there weren't bumps in the road. Though to be fair they were more on my part than Edward's. After all it was quite a shock when I woke up one Saturday morning, when I was just two months shy of my fifteenth birthday, with that bizarre yet definite idea planted in my head. I had mulled it over all the way through the piano lesson I had with Edward that day. Of course he had noticed my distraction, he had sighed a lot more that day that he had previously. However I couldn't tell him what I was thinking, because at that moment it seemed so ludicrous that the thought of voicing it out loud was enough to make me blush. After the lesson, I thought back on those blushes and I realised they had coincided with Edward's sighs. That had only solidified the baffling theory in my mind.

I spent the days that followed the piano lesson churning the notion over and over in my mind, so much so that even my father was puzzled by my silence. Not that mother minded. It wasn't until the eve prior to my next lesson that I came to a decision, and it was a simple one: so?

I went to that piano lesson the next day with a smile on my face and a spring in my step because there wasn't that cloud of indecision dominating my head. I had decided to accept and ignore the truth of Edward Masen, as deadly as it may have been.

Of course, soon after my discovery, when the urge to speak out was still fresh in my mind, life built steady layers over the top until all I could think about was the little everyday things that somehow seemed so much more important. President Roosevelt took over power and with him came an optimism my father read wrongly. He stayed loyal to Dr Cullen which was a good thing because when he nearly lost our family's fortune it was Dr Cullen and his wife who helped us to stay afloat. From that moment my father always listened to Dr Cullen and stayed away from the stock markets. That decision was by far the best because it saved Mother and Father's marriage. The rows in those days had been almost constant, and I spent much of my time up in my room with the door locked and my head buried beneath the covers as I read. All cunning tactics to try and ignore the tears that snuck down my cheeks.

All the while there was an unease growing on the front pages of the newspapers and it was revolving around a man named Adolf Hitler. Father said he was nothing to worry about, that Germany was too far away for any trouble there to affect us. Mother agreed to degree, but I saw the uncertainty flit across her face. From what the papers reported, Adolf Hitler was a man with ambition and such ambition could become a deadly thing. That was a lesson learnt in WWI.

Still, it wasn't all bad. My fifteenth birthday, before the arguments started, was a memory I'd keep with me always. My parents took me to the theatre to see a performance of Swan Lake and I can't imagine ever again seeing anything so graceful in my life. The way the dancers moved was enough to make the audience fall silent, which left the exquisite piano as the only sounds left to be heard. And what a sound. I had gushed about it to Edward, so much so that eventually he offered to teach me the basic melody. That tune was the thing I turned to when the arguments started. It soon became a habit of mine. I'd hum it quietly whenever I felt upset or unsafe and it soothed as if by magic.

As the months passed, my musical ability grew just as steadily as mine and Edward's relationship. Lessons that were once dominated by notes and chords soon made way for conversations about ourselves, or more to the point about myself. Edward rarely answered any of my questions and yet had so many of his own. Throughout all those lessons I kept my newfound knowledge to myself because in truth it never really came to the forefront of my mind. I was so absorbed in the present. Now, seven months on, it is a little harder to bite my tongue and hold my breath. Every time I'm near Edward I have this overwhelming urge to spill it all. To tell him every single thought I've had, every wonder, every dream, and every nightmare. It's like an ever present itch tickling the back of my throat. That need to just tell him what I know and ask the questions I'd been desperate to ask. I just wanted to know what it meant to be a vampire, because it wasn't everyday one taught you piano. Or at least it wasn't for most.

"Annabelle." His soft voice pulled me back to focus.

I blinked away the blur until I saw the black and white keys beneath my fingertips. Their silky surface touched my skin softly and brought with it a comfort born from hours of practice.

"My apologies, Edward. What was it you said?" I avoided his eyes as I had more and more recently. It wasn't from fear, or disrespect. Something completely opposite in fact. I enjoyed far too much the sight of those eyes. I respected his opinions to the point of taking them on as my own. If there was one thing I was certain of in regards to vampires, it would be that their eyes held far more power than any mere human gaze could.

"You have something on your mind," he stated, no question lacing his soft voice.

I could feel the words creep up my throat but clamped my mouth shut for fear of what may happen if I let them loose.

I felt Edward move. It was a hard thing to do, but from the many months of contact I had heightened every sense around him. The subtle scent of warm honey drifted from my left as he stood in front of me, looking at me over the piano.

"And if I know you as I think I do, you have been preoccupied for quite some time now."

My breath caught and in a snap decision I found my eyes looking into his. They were so warm, seductive even, although who was I to make such a presumption. I could only judge by the feeling they ignited. I had no other experience to use as my compass.

"You can tell me, Annabelle. I do not enjoy watching you struggle this way." He leaned forward just a little but it was enough to bring a blush to my cheeks. I blinked and turned away, breaking the eye contact that made my face grow hot.

I touched my fingertips to my rosy cheeks, feeling the warm burn below the smooth surface.

"Does it bother you?" I whispered as I kept my stare fixed on the piano keys. I couldn't look at him now. I didn't want to see the anger that I was sure would be there or worse the laughter.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Miss Hartley." His formal tone hurt. He was angry. I knew it. I knew him well enough to know that the use of my last name wasn't a good thing.

"Actually, Edward, I believe you understand quite well. In fact, I think you understand a great many things, probably better than my father, maybe even better than many of the great men in the world," I murmured down into my lap. I daren't look at him now. I hadn't seen his black eyes in so long; I feared ever seeing them again.

"You make me sound omniscient, Miss Hartley. Do you compare me to God?" His words cut and I wished with all my heart that I hadn't uttered a word.

"No, Edward. I do not think you are God. Something else entirely, but no less otherworldly." Slowly, and with no sign of confidence, I raised my face to his.

"Say it. Out loud," he said in a gravelly voice. His eyes were fixed on mine and it was almost hypnotic looking in the syrupy hue.

"I can't."

"Too scared to make this nightmare a reality." For the first time he turned away from me, moving with haste to the far end of the room.

"I'm not scared," I declared as I stood from the bench. Despite his distance I still heard his bitter laugh.

"Don't lie to me."

"Fine. I may be scared, but not for the reasons you think." I crossed my arms in a show of defiance. I had taken the leap and the fall hadn't been as bad as I thought. What more did I have to lose? "I'm not scared of you, or of what you are. What scares me is what it would mean if I admitted such a thing was true."

I watched him bring his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he so often did when I frustrated him. It was a relief to see him still so normal around me.

"I will not hurt you, Annabelle." For a man so strong he sounded so weak.

"You've misread me again, Edward." I tried to keep the smile from my face but failed. As always he heard the inflection in my voice and spun with speed just a fraction faster than human.

"My reason, my only reason, for not confronting you sooner is that I feared you would flee. Or laugh at me, but fleeing seemed the more likely of the two. I imagine a secret such a yours is of great importance and I also imagine that when knowledge of that secret becomes apparent you must act as any other would and escape from it." My confidence was growing and with it I could see his facade start to crack.

"Running is not our only option." He warned.

"Please do not try to scare me, Edward. It is a waste of both your time and mine, and quite un-gentlemanlike."

"You should leave," he whispered as a hand passed through his hair.

"Is that what you want me to do?"

"No, but that is why you should. I should have never invited you here, put you in this position."

"I think you'll find it was my mother who put me in this position. She was the one who contacted you, not vice versa." It was odd to reason with a vampire, especially in the case that I was trying to keep myself in his presence. I should have wanted to run out the door and never go back but there was something about him and the desolate look on his face that made me want to stay.

"It was selfish of me to continue your lessons."

"No, what is selfish is wasting my piano lesson acting so sullen. Need I remind you that my parents pay by the hour." I teased as I took my place back at the piano, rolling my shoulders back and poising my fingers over the keys as taught. This did not have to be dwelled upon. If it were then it would just be made into more of issue than it was. Maybe I was wrong to think it. Maybe I should be sent away to the mad house for believing what I did. No matter, I knew Edward would not hurt me, and I knew that his not being human made no difference to me. He had been nothing but a friend and mentor this past months. Surely if he were to kill me he would have done it by now. He'd had plenty of opportunities.

Several minutes passed and I turned impatiently. That impatience quickly turned to disappointment and shock when I found the door ajar and no sign of Edward.

I sighed heavily and returned to the piano keys. _If that is how he plans to play it, fine. _I thought as I started to play. Edward could run for as long as he wanted. He couldn't avoid me forever.


End file.
